


A Late Stranger

by RebelxPen



Series: The Mannerly Series [4]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Post Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelxPen/pseuds/RebelxPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Effie decides not to be a stranger and goes to District 12. Just a shameless little one shot to let me get out some feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Late Stranger

“Don’t be a stranger, Effie.”

_Come with us._

“Take care of her.”

_I can’t._

The late afternoon sun was painting everything gold as Effie slowly made her way to the Victor’s village. Peeta wanted to take his time, exploring the District with his own eyes before going to find Katniss, but Effie couldn’t wait. She walked slowly, the temperature perfect, the afternoon birds chattering as they dashed to-and-fro, preparing for nightfall. It was peaceful, even if she was not. Her heart beat like thunder in her chest, her fingers clenching tightly in the pockets of her skirt. Haymitch and Katniss had departed from the Capitol in mid-winter, and it was now the end of spring and Effie had not so much as sent a postcard.

She tried—Heaven knew she tried. So many times Effie sat at her writing desk and picked up the pen only to set it down again, or to scribble everything she felt down onto the paper as if she were abusing the very fibers that held it together. Piles of crumpled pages rose up at her feet, and yet she still had never found the courage to send one. She practiced the words in her head now, the dust of District 12 clouding around her cream colored shoes as she walked.

“I know you said not to be a stranger, but—“ she shook her head, pressing her purple lips into a thin line.

“Haymitch,” she said, starting over, pretending he were there. “It’s so good to see you! I—“

This time, she stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes as she dropped her chin to her chest. Was this a mistake? Maybe she shouldn’t have come at all. What did she hope to find here, anyway?

What if they had shared a moment—an hour—an evening together here and there in the dungeons of District 13? What if they had found comfort in sliding their broken pieces together like a puzzle amidst the stress and uncertainty of war? Didn’t history store countless stories of just such events? They didn’t need to mean anything. What if he had already forgotten? Or worse—drowned the memories in that white liquid poison he cherished so much?

Opening her eyes, Effie took a deep, steadying breath and raised her head. The Victor’s village spread out before her, the gate mangled and crooked above her, but one row of houses standing tall. It brought a soft smile to her lips, especially as she recognized that the three remaining houses were the very houses the children and Haymitch had inhabited before everything burned to the ground.

“I always did love irony,” she sighed to herself.

Having come too far to turn back, despite her racing heart, Effie gulped back her fear and crossed the border of the village, and soon she found herself at his front steps. Each click of her heel on those wooden boards felt like a gavel calling her to order for judgement. In the background, she could hear geese honking and flapping their wings—their noise overwhelming in the deafening silence of the District. She stuttered out a breath and stood at his door, the paint chipping and faded by weather and smoke, but still sturdy as ever, much like the man of the house, or at least, she hoped he would still be the same.

Her pale white knuckles rose and stretched out to knock, but she hesitated, her fist trembling in the air. She gripped her stomach with the other hand, willing it to be still, to be calm as she tried again. Her knuckles couldn’t make contact, some unseen force keeping her hand back. What if he turned her away? She would deserve it. In the months apart, Effie had come to understand a little of the demons Haymitch faced in his dreams. She came to understand a little of why he rushed so quickly to hide in the burning comfort of his liquor.

There was no solace in sleep, in silence. There was no comfort in rules and schedules.

Effie Trinket had never been known for her courage, in fact, it was her cowardice that made her into the woman everyone knew. The face she painted on every morning, the grande wigs she wore atop her head, it was all her way of hiding, of wanting to appear perfect so that she might go unseen.

Her fist fell, the tremble in her fingers traveling up her arm. She turned, her head falling forward heavily in shame as she took a step to go—but then she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and before she could look, she heard it creak open. She could feel his eyes boring into her, and slowly, she turned to face him. Wig-less, very little makeup, and far shorter heels than she had ever worn before, Effie met those seam grey eyes she had come to know so well and waited.

He only stared, his face an unreadable mask.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked, her voice trembling as much as the rest of her.

Silence.

Her eyes welled up. “Haymitch, I—“

He reached out and took her arm in his hand, drawing her to him and cupping her cheek. “You’re late, Princess.”

A flood of relief washed over her, and Effie’s arms softly encircled his neck as she smiled up at him, one hand coming to rest against the stubbled line of his jaw. 

“There’s a first time for everything.” 


End file.
